Master Zum (5 page)
“So your answer would be a yes?” he asked.
He moved inside me again, his cock not hard but not soft either.
“It would be,” I said, tugging his trousers down so I could cup his arse. “And I’d expect a collar, not a ring. I want what we had before this, but I want this too. We’d have to find a balance, know the new rules. Learn them together.”
He kissed me, tongue deep, lips soft. I kissed him back, in wonder at how quickly, how drastically our evening had changed. From harsh to soft, raw to gentle. This man, this mountain of muscovado, had so much more to give, as did I. We’d shown parts of ourselves, not the whole, yet we’d fallen in love with those parts, and now we’d fall in love all over again.
His cock grew harder as our kiss deepened, and I curled my legs around his to draw him closer. I touched him wherever his skin was bare, loving the fact that I could—yet at the same time missing him telling me what to do. But I had every facet of him to look forward to now, some nights like this, some nights like that, and as he came to full hardness and rode me languidly, I mentally pinched myself that I was one of those lucky women who had the best of both worlds.
Coming Soon from Totally Bound Publishing:
VampDom
Natalie Dae
Released 6
th
June 2014
Excerpt
Chapter One
I could fuck and fuck and fuck him until I was all fucked out. That’s how much he had me by the cunt, the female version of the proverbial balls. Esther, Domme by night, held hostage by a man who could rule my waking hours and my dreams without even trying.
Fucking had to wait, though. He was giving me a taste of my own medicine tonight, being all masterful instead of me dominating him. I wanted that—needed that—and nothing was going to stop me coming until I was spent like a dull-colored penny.
Dirty. Handled. Well-used.
“Are your arms aching yet?” he asked from behind me.
They were but I wasn’t about to admit it. Not yet. Not until I couldn’t take anymore. I hung from chains screwed into the cellar ceiling, leather manacles chafing my wrists. I stared at a rough cement wall, its hue the kind of gray the sky goes before a hasty but stream-swelling shower. My toes barely touched the floor, my muscles would scream if they could, and I was on the verge of doing that myself. Screaming from frustration. He was taking his time, something I didn’t want him to do. I needed him to get on with whatever he had in mind then give me permission to come. The Domme in me had the urge to give him a piece of my mind but I held back. He’d only tease me for longer.
He cleared his throat. “Are you at the stage where you want me to begin yet?”
I was at that stage ages ago, but again, I wasn’t going to admit it.
“Hmm. Silence from you.” He walked around so he stood in front of me. “That can only mean one thing. You’re struggling to admit defeat. Aren’t you?”
“No, Sir. Not defeat.”
“Something then. How much you need me to get into full play, perhaps?”
“Maybe,” I mumbled, knowing if I didn’t assuage his need for being right he’d drag this out—and out and out…
“Then I’ll begin. A small treat. Something I’d like you to do to me sometime.”
He walked away. I guessed he faced my back, staring at the length of my elongated body and contemplating whether to paddle my arse or give me an almighty whipping. I didn’t mind what he did—anything other than this waiting.
“Spread your legs,” he said. “Wide as you can. That’s right—but wider.”
My inner thigh muscles opened their imaginary mouths to release a scream again, and I bit my bottom lip to transfer the pain to there. Not pain of the agonizing variety he’d put me through before, but an ache, a pushing, bullying ache that didn’t seem to want to go away.
He fiddled with something—plastic lightly grazing against plastic?—then a startling cold splodge of wetness coated my arse crack.
Ah, so he was going to go there, was he?
And he wants me to do this to him. Interesting…
I smiled, my lip popping free of my teeth, and blew out a shaky sigh.
He slipped a finger into the crevice and massaged the lube up, skirting over my arse pucker on the way down. It spasmed at his touch, my cunt following suit, my clit bobbing. As he worked—up and down, up and down—the lube warmed.
“Are you ready?” he whispered, breath tickling the nape of my neck, exposed from my long hair being wound into a high bun.
Oh, I was ready, but did I want to confess to that yet? Did I want him to play with me some more? No. No, I didn’t—I’d had enough of playing. The real deal shouted to be realized and I nudged my arse back quickly, his fingertip breaching my tight ring. I hissed out a sigh at being entered, even if it was only a little, and squeezed my eyes shut.
In my head I saw what he must look like, standing so close to me that if I moved back another inch our bodies would be flush. His dark suit would abrade my skin, sending fizzles of delight here, there and everywhere at once, a spiral of desire so strong I might not be able to breathe.
I was struggling to do that as it was. It seemed that I’d forgotten how, or that my lungs had no idea how to inflate with air. He had my body dancing to his rather vibrant tune, as always. I concentrated hard, telling myself to calm down, telling my heart to stop ticking quite so fast, to slow a bit so I could get a handle on my emotions. They were roiling, churning around the streets and avenues that were my veins, ensuring I lost direction and didn’t know which way to turn.
Stop thinking about what he’s going to do and just wait for him to do it.
Anticipation always got to me.
He removed the tip of his finger, leaving me lost and whimpering, convincing myself that he still had his finger close and that if I barged back it would soar right into my arse and give me the satisfaction I wanted. Much as I had the courage to do that, I remained where I was. Hanging. And wasn’t that apt, considering how I was strung up?
He reached around and placed his hand on my lower belly, fingers wide, palm a surge of wicked heat. I was torn between moving forward or back now, indecision a torment I realized he’d planned.
Bastard. Glorious, glorious bastard.
He touched a toy to my arse—either a butt plug or a vibrator, I wasn’t sure which—then applied pressure. My arse hole opened around it, growing wider by the millisecond, wider still until it dawned on me he wasn’t using anything slender. The feeling of being filled was sharper than when he’d penetrated my rear on other occasions, my rim feeling as if it might rip yet yielding at the same time. I clung to that feeling, going with it, my excitement growing right along with the circumference of my arse ring. He paused for a moment then began again, a longer push, one that had me opening my eyes and my mouth.
“Just a bit more,” he said, “then you’ve got all of it inside.”
It was as though the vibrator was lodged as far as it could go already, so to know there was more to come brought on a touch of
can I, can’t I?
I inhaled, deep, and braced myself, relaxing as much as my tense body would allow.
And there it went, gliding upwards, a solid mass that seemed as if it shouldn’t be there—but it should, it really should. He must have had his fingertip on the end—my arse tried to expel but the toy wasn’t moving. I let the strain of fighting it seep out of me, closing my eyes again to concentrate better.
“That’s the way,” he said. “You know how this works.”
His breath on my neck once more, bathing, arousing, quickly going cold. His nearness, body heat so close yet so far. His mouth, almost on my skin, him perhaps with his tongue poised, ready to dart it out and taste the sweat of my need.
“That vein there,” he murmured. “The one in your throat. It always makes me want to…”
I knew what it made him want to do, and the fact that he hadn’t so far said he respected me. The choice had to be mine. Although I’d known what he was from the first moment I’d met him—working in Paradise gave a heavy indication that he was vampire—he had never been anything but a gentleman.
He moved away from me, his retreat swift and unwanted. I whined, frustration growing. On the cusp of telling him to hurry, I clamped my mouth shut and imagined what he was doing. Biting his knuckles, his jaw muscles pulsing much like the vein in my neck he so wanted to suck from? Or maybe he was staring at the ceiling, counting to ten? Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t doing it anywhere near me—and I needed him back where he’d been, close, closer than he’d been before.
“You,” he said, right by my neck again—his rapid shift from wherever he’d been to where he was now something I was used to. “You must have the blood of the devil. It taunts me. Calls to me so loud I can barely hear anything else but the thud of your pulse. You’re a witch—a beautiful little witch.”
I smiled, cracking open my eyes, euphoria floating through me until I became lightheaded. Then he whizzed to face me, his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone. He looked ragged—and wretched, like he’d fought an internal battle and had just about come out of it unscathed.
“You see what you do to me, Esther? Do you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, guilty as charged and wishing things could be different. That he could bite me, drink my blood, do absolutely everything to me he had the need to do.
But he couldn’t—not until I was ready, if I ever would be—and we both knew that, had accepted it from day one.
He dropped to his knees, reaching around me to switch on the vibrator. The buzz and hum was so immediate it sparked a shot of craving right up my cunt. I keened, staring down at him, bunching my hands into fists, the manacles digging into my raw skin. I waited the second’s pause with him before he lunged forward and buried his face in my cunt. My breath was snatched out of me by some unseen, grasping hand that pulled and pulled until I bowed my back in my attempt to drag in more air to replace what had been stolen. I jerked, panicking a bit while my lungs refused to work yet again. Then they gave up the battle, letting me suck blissful air into them.
Pinpricks of sensation in my clit from Felix sucking it ravaged my nerve endings. Raw and heightened pleasure shunted out and spread to my lower body. I was weak, succumbing to the bliss he was creating. He let my clit go, flattened his tongue against it, then licked up and down. He teased my swollen bud then dipped into my cunt, over and over until I teetered on the edge of freefall. I stretched my toes, unclenched my fists to relieve my arms of painful tension, and canted my hips to mash my pussy closer to his mouth.
He drew away, an inch or so between his lips and my aching, soaking folds, and said, “Come.”
I let go, allowing pleasure to swamp me, carry me away to wherever it had in mind. My body turned into a bucking, writhing mass of sizzling nerve endings, throbbing muscles and heat-tingled skin. He licked on, reaching up to take my tits in hand and caress them, his softness there surprising and nothing like his usual treatment. A slight nip to my clit in between licks and I cried out, panting, groaning, each sound as alien to me as never fucking would be.
And, God, I could never not fuck.
The intensity dispersed, setting me adrift on a calm and airy plane. I took the time to steady my breathing, to swallow my moans, to resist asking him to unlock my wrists. I wanted to touch his hair, bury my fingers in it and draw his cheek to my lower belly. To have him calm down, erasing those thoughts he’d be having of piercing my vein with his teeth and drinking me dry.
He must have read my mind. He lowered his hands from my breasts to cup my arse with one hand, switch the vibrator off with the other, then rested his cheek to my sodden pubic hair. The manacles sprang apart—one of his mind tricks that failed to surprise me these days—and I winced while drawing my arms down.
I touched his head, just fingertips at first, and when the feeling came back into my hands, I scrunched his hair inside them.
This,
this
was what I wanted, the pair of us like this, the cruelties of the world shut out. We were safe. Felix was safe.
“I won’t let anyone take me from you,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”
I nodded, hoping he sensed the movement, but decided not to say anything. Something inside told me he’d taken a risk bringing me here to his home for a fuck, a cellar where the mullioned windows high above us could be peered through by people walking past.
“There is no risk, so long as you’re with me, Esther.”
I accepted that, but a voice whispered that when I wasn’t with him I needed to be careful. I didn’t understand it, but the idea of hidden dangers wouldn’t go away. I shivered, and Felix stood, whipping me over to a makeshift bed on the floor and covering me with a feather-filled quilt.
“Sleep,” he said. “Then I’ll take you home just before dawn.”
I closed my eyes, knowing I might not be lucid enough on the journey. He usually swept me home so fast it could have been the time it took for a human to blink.
As sleep approached, he massaged my wrists, the scent of his salve as familiar as his cologne. He slid the vibrator out of me, kissed my mouth with featherlight pecks then whispered, “The next time you see me will be tomorrow night in Paradise. Sleep, darling Esther. Sleep.”
About the Author
Natalie Dae is a multi-published author in three pen names writing several genres. She lives with her husband, children, and three cats in an English village. She writes full time and is also a cover artist and blog designer. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Sarah Masters and Charley Oweson.
